


knight of the thorn

by pangenderapollonian



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mentions of Character Death, Mentions of Violence, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 22:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pangenderapollonian/pseuds/pangenderapollonian
Summary: Three contexts in which she has wielded the sword.





	knight of the thorn

the first time she wielded it

she had only been awake for a mere months;

a fledgling sapling tasked

with proving herself worthy to lead.

in her hands the blade felt heavy

but the undead army crumbled under its weight

she chased the gloom and brought back the sun

if for a few moments.

she did not see the sword again until…

she had been battered by the crushing burden of war

earned her scars and her commendations

her name was preceded by warmaster;

the threat of defeat overwhelming and

terror created from the loss.

the sword came into the hands of another and

the first time he wielded it

he was the eldest with inexperience;

just a man made out of books tasked

with proving himself worthy to lead.

in his hands the blade claimed victory

the undead army perished from its cleansing hope

he chased the gloom and brought back the sun

if for a few moments.

she did not wield the sword again until…

its blade pierced the heart of its second owner

the shards cutting through her hands

blood spilling in order

to destroy corruption (he said).

the blood was his,

and hers,

and their mother’s

which oozed all the way to her roots.

the loss of a child is a difficult pain to bear,

and their siblings wept with her.

she did not wield the sword again until…

its bones were gathered piece by piece

set to rest and healed

by the corporealness of compassion and faith

and the endurance of warrior and mother.

this time in which she wielded it,

she had grown, but felt a child still;

a hero of tyria tasked

with proving herself worthy of the title.

her hands were heavy but the blade was light;

her shoulders crumbled under the weight of

a thousand burdens,

and expectations,

but the swinging was easy.

(that got easier

with time.)


End file.
